


lead not into temptation

by winterbones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterbones/pseuds/winterbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for as they say, I can find it myself.</p>
<p>a not so priestly Killian Jones has blasphemous thoughts about a certain would-be nun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lead not into temptation

In the light filtering in from the grate above the confessional, the cache looked like stars in the night sky. A diamond broach sat in an 18-karat plate, teardrop emeralds in a white platinum earring setting, a strand of black pearls, and a variety of other priceless gemstones—the multicolor pile almost seemed like hard candies, but with them he could buy himself a small island. A bastard Mr. Gold may be, but a rich one.

Cutting out a hidey-hole in the confessional had almost been insultingly easy. Really, though, it seemed to him that the Church itself had been built for all manner of naughty things and while parishioners sought absolution for their souls, their ever-pious Father James was gleefully counting out the wealth had lifted from that bastard Gold. If he had ever felt repentant—and he never had; he and Gold had a long-standing feud, harkening back to a woman neither of them had deserved and the violent loss of his left hand—he reminded himself Gold had more than earned his due and that a series of forged paper and a mimic of the Papal seal had made him able to forgive his own sins.

But now it was time to cut and run. Four months holed up in this little church on top its immaculate hill under the watchful gaze of the monsignor and the Mother Superior was more than long enough. Sand beaches and coconut-flavored rum were calling his name—his real name. A long overdue visit to his homeland of Ireland was just the thing Father James needed to disappear off the face of the earth and Killian Jones could pop back into existence.

The sound of the confessional’s door opening startled him, the sharp edges of a faceted blue diamond biting into his palm. He gritted his teeth over a particularly blasphemous profanity as it shut and someone settled into the booth opposite him.

For a moment, silence stretched between priest and parishioner. He had just begun to hope that whoever was there would assume that the confessional was empty after all when a whisper-soft “Monsignor?” sighed through the opaque film between them.

This time he had to stifle a groan and resist the urge to pound his fist against the wall. Killian knew that voice, soft and lyrical, chasing him through his dreams, wrapping its serpentine tendrils around him, until he awoke with a very un-priestly stiffening cock. Maybe delectable nuns-to-be were supposed to be the point—self-denial or self-punishment of some such rot—but he was the farthest thing from a humble man of the cloth, despite the costume, and he’d spent most of his four months cursing little would-be nuns with bluebell eyes and shapely legs and damned white stockings and shiny Mary Janes.

A good priest did not imagine taking his tempting almost-nun from behind on his desk, nor against the white mortar behind the chapel, nor about sneaking into her Spartan bedroom and going down on her to show her what uses lips had other than prayer. He hadn’t known he’d had all these sweet young thing kinks but he did and Miss Aurora Jour was a packaged fantasy, pre-wrapped.

“Monsignor?”

He jolted, the hook attached to the stump of his left hand clacking loudly against the paneling. He prayed—and the irony was not lost on him—that she’d take the sound for a rosary.

“Have you come to confess your sins, my child?” Killian said, pitching his voice low enough to match, he hoped, the gravelly voice of the elder monsignor.

“Yes, Father,” she said and he wondered what heinous transgression she had imagined herself having committed—forget to hold a door open, pardon herself from the supper table, laugh at someone’s tripping? Aurora was almost as immaculate as the Virgin herself, at least you’d think so by the way the monsignor and the Mother Superior carried on, so bloody protective of their flower, they were. He’d gleaned only the briefest of her history—something about a madwoman and dead parents. He likened her to a disenfranchised princess seeking asylum in a convent.

“Speak then,” he urged, gritting his teeth. His clerical collar felt restrictive, crushing against his windpipe, and he shoved two fingers behind it, attempting to alleviate the pressure. The sooner she confessed, the sooner he could shuffle her out with a few Hail Marys and a handful Our Fathers.

“I’ve… I’ve…” Killian had only a distorted image of her, pale skin and downturned mouth. “I’ve had impure thoughts—about a man.”

He stood without realizing it, his head nearly bashing against the top of the confessional. “ _What_ ,” he managed, the word lodged in his throat because he was imaging sweet little Aurora with impure thoughts and he’d caught her eye straying to his a time or two but—fuck, who could blame her? There weren’t exactly an endless stream of men under the age of sixty here and he wasn’t going to play modest and say he didn’t know how good-looking he was. He did, and it was extremely useful in his line of work. Those impure thoughts had better be about him anyway—or somewhere out there a dead man was walking.

From behind the screen he could make out Aurora giving a shaking nod, her white hands flashing in the dull light as she folded them together. “I know that—I owe you and the Mother Superior so much, for taking me in and protecting me from Maleficent and I—I tried so hard to be good, I really did and now… please tell me what I should do, Father.”

“Tell me.” The words were ripped harshly from his throat, like they were wrapped in barbed wire.

He thought her lips parted in shock, but maybe that was his imagination. Because his imagination had spent a lot of time on her lips—a soft pink with a red tongue that had a nervous habit of ending up being caught between her lips. He’d imagined them around his cock a time or two. He’d never much thought of himself as a man who placed much value in untouched territory but there had been a peculiar thrill in thinking about teaching her how to suck him, moving her hair away from her face as she learned how to take him all in that sweet, wet mouth. He liked a woman who’d go down, but he liked it even more when they _enjoyed_ going down—and he thought she’d like it, she’d like it because it’d offend all her puritan sensibilities.

“F—father?” Her words shivered out and he wanted to plow through that screen and gobbled up.

“I must know the nature of your sin,” he managed, easing his long legs out and propping them up against the wood paneling the separated the booths.

This time he wasn’t imagining her pressing her lips together—he could practically hear it, and the shaky breath that escaped her. Just about everything flustered Aurora and Killian knew that had to be a blush now, unfurling in her cheeks and dripping down her neck, passing the conversation cut of her neckline. He’d like to follow it with his mouth.

“It’s thoughts…”

“About?” At her obvious hesitation, he intoned grimly, “You must be honest with me, my child.”

“Father James,” she said in a rush, the two words slurring together shyly and his cock, stirring since he had realized just who was on the other side of the confessional. “I—I think about him in a manner… a manner that is not befitting his station. I think of him lewdly— _Imsosorryfather_.”

_Don’t be_ , Killian nearly said, squeezing his eyes shut painfully as lust slammed through him. “Go on. Do not be afraid here. Is thinking is all you have done?”

“No,” she admitted in a mortified squeak. “Sometimes I—at night when I think about him I—I oh please, Father, do I—”

“You must unburden yourself,” he gritted out. A good man wouldn’t be slipping a hand down his trousers, wrapping his fingers around the turgid length of his cock while he urged an innocent to play out an unwittingly role in his depraved fantasy, but since he was neither good nor a priest, he stroked his half-hard cock into the beginnings of a very stiff erection.

“I touch myself,” she breathed out and Killian barely managed to stifle the groan, his hook digging into the bench beneath him as he pumped a hand down his shaft, the foreskin following the movements of his hand.

“Go on,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he stroked himself, imaging little miss Aurora beneath her pristine sheets, lifting up her shapeless nightgown so she could stroke her sweet, wet pussy, imagined her biting her lip to keep from moaning, her free hand slipping to toy with her nipple—would they be a soft pink or a deep, passionate red?

“I can’t—I can’t help it. I just—he makes me ache all I over and I don’t…”

“Oh sweet God,” he hissed out, hunching over as he pressed his thumb to slit at the top of his cock, already beading with sticky pre-come.

“Did you say something, Father?”

“Keep going,” he ordered, and Aurora must have been truly struck with guilt because he hadn’t even bothered to distinguish his voice—whatever gravel was in it was from the knifing pleasure of stroking himself and imaging Aurora masturbating to him.

“It’s wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s not wrong.” And she was ruining the mood. This was the best send off he’d ever had—and he’d spent a week holed up with a call girl who only serviced spoiled princes—and he had been a while since he’d been able to come from words alone, but Aurora’s softly spoken admission had a siren’s effect on him.

“What?”

“Because you’re confessing.”

“Oh.”

Killian pumped himself, his fist tight around his organ, his hips undulating. He wanted to jerk, wanted to come fast and hard, but that would make a little too much noise and while Aurora thought too highly of the world to think some sleaze would use her confession as prime fantasy material, even she’d get suspicious of a rocking booth.

Her words flowed fuzzily around him as he concentrated on finishing before _she_ finished. He looked down where his cock thrust between his fist, the purple vein protruding heavily from its side, the mushroom head swelling with oncoming release. _Oh Jesus fuck me so close_. Killian bit down so hard on his tongue that the metallic tang of blood exploded in his mouth just as he exploded against his hand, sticky come smearing on his palm and against his black trousers—what a mess.

Breathing heavily, he leaned his back against the wall as his the ringing in his eyes dissipated. Reality decided to intrude on perhaps one of the best post-orgasm bliss he’d ever experience in the form of Aurora’s alarmed voice.

“Monsignor? Monsignor, please, are you alright?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she was already exiting her side of the booth. Killian had a two second reprieve to shove his softening cock into his trousers before the door was thrown open, a fresh-faced and worried Aurora silhouetted in the threshold. Her eyes widened but in that split second he was already grabbing her and tossing her against the side of the booth, slapping his hand over her mouth. He almost felt bad about it, because his hand was covered in the sticky fluid of his release but at the same time it gave him a little bit of thrill—she’d been the one to bring that on, after all.

The curved end of his hook pressed to his lips in an obvious sign for silence. “No screaming?” Killian suggested and Aurora gave a barely perceivable nod against his palm. He might have been suspicious, except this was sweet, naïve Aurora. She wouldn’t lie.

He lifted his good hand away and Aurora sucked in a hard breath, scooting away from him in the single inch of space she had on the bench. “Fa—Father James,” she squeaked, her soft lips parting in shock—just shock though. He didn’t think he saw disgust there, which was good—very good. “What—how—why—”

“Naughty, naughty girl, aren’t you?” he murmured, drunk on her. How long had it been since a woman had been able to do this to him? Forever and a damned day, it felt like. He knelt on the bench in front of her, bending over her. “What would the Monsignor say if he knew all those wicked fantasies you were entertaining, hmm? You’re very lucky it was me on this side of the screen.”

She stared at him, cheeks flushed, and suddenly she shot her hand out with a yelp of indignation. He gave a wild laugh and caught it before that pale soft hand cracked against his cheek, dragging the smooth skin of her palm over his lips. She shuddered beneath him, the straight black pencil skirt slipping past her knees as she leveled herself on her elbows. The white veil that controlled her luscious mink hair was already askew. It only took a light tap of his hook to send it plopping to the ground.

“Such a wicked, naughty girl,” he murmured huskily, dragging her forefinger into his mouth, sucking on the digit and making her shudder below him. “Thinking such depraved thoughts about a priest.”

“You’re not a priest,” she snapped.

“Maybe you’ve been hanging around the wrong priests?” he suggested with a cheeky grin. He laid his blunted arm apart along the paneling below the confessional screen, arching over her. He felt a wolfish satisfaction at the feel of her fingers gripping his shirt tails.

“Rora,” he murmured, the fingers on his good hand trailing up the exposed skin on her thigh. “Go on, tell me to stop.” His mouth teased the small patch of skin above her blouse. Aurora’s voice came out in a garbled moan. “That’s all you have to do. Say no and you can go back to touching yourself like it’s a shameful secret—or you could let me fuck you. I could fuck you so hard, Rora, so hard you won’t see straight when I’m done with you—and you can fuck me too. I want to feel you, all hot and tight around my cock, want to feel you milking me. Do you want me to stop, Aurora? Do you?”

“Don’t,” she moaned, rearing up to latch her arms around his neck, dragging him down against her on the small bench. Maybe nuns-to-be possessed special healing properties, because he was already tenting his trousers, ready and willing to come again. “Don’t stop.”

He slammed his mouth against hers, shoving his tongue past her unresisting lips. She gave a weak, muffled moan and he squeezed his eyes shut as his rubbed himself against her legs. Her tongue tentatively swept over his and she whimpered when he urged her tongue into his mouth, where he could suckle it, drown his taste buds in the flavor of her. She was some ripe fruit on his island, and he was more than ready to drain her dry.

What he wanted to do was get the taste of her arousal into his mouth, lap up her sweet juices and then show her what she tasted like on his lips but this was already going to be a pretzel fuck of epic proportions—there wasn’t any room for it. All he managed to do was work his good hand between her parted thighs, stroking her through her cotton panties. She was already soaking, dripping wet, and he unconsciously undulated his hips against her thighs, rubbing his rock-hard cock against her smooth skin, something inside of him rebounding like an echo on cave walls— _mine mine mine_. She was wet for him, and only him.

“Look at what a bad girl you are,” he whispered into her beat red face as his fingers pushed her cotton panties tight against her mound, his finger teasing her opening through the fabric. “You were on the other side of that confessional wishing it was me, weren’t you? Thinking it was me, getting all gooey and wet from it—wanting me to hear you talk about how you put your fingers in here,” he gave his digit another shove and she mewled, clawing at his back, “and how you wished they were mine.”

“No—no I—”

He nipped at her lip. “Don’t lie in a church, you wicked girl.”

Bright splotches of color bloomed on her cheeks and Killian mouthed them as she whispered, “I did. I was—I was thinking about what if it was you and listening to me and I—”

“You got all wet.”

She nodded, lifting those bluebell eyes to his—her gaze heavy lidded and unceremoniously heated. “I wanted to touch myself.”

His breath hissed out as he sucked on her mouth again, biting down fiercely on her bottom lip. “Touch yourself,” he urged. “Put your hand down on your pussy—let me feel you.”

She did, her small hand darting underneath his, pushing aside her cotton panties. She moved slowly, as if in a dance, her eyes drifting close as she swirled her fingers through her slick mound. He knew the minute she had pushed a finger up inside her because he lip jutted out with a sharp little pant.

“I’m not going to fuck you all gentle and sweet,” he warned her, pressing his palm against the back of her hand, trapping her finger inside her quivering body. “I’m not gentle and sweet. All you’re going to get from me is a good, long fuck—and you’re going to love it. I’m about to ruin you.”

“Father—Father _Jam_ —”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Killian,” he said. Her eyes blinked open and stared at him blankly. “ _Killian_ ,” he stressed. He apparently had a ‘fuck almost-nuns in a confessional’ fetish but the daddy kink was still a turn off.

“Killian,” she whispered back, free hand streaking across his face in an oddly tender juxtaposition to his words.

“It’s not going to work this way,” he explained to her, turning his head to coast his lips across the smooth skin on her palm. He kneeled, head brushing up against the top of the confessional, and dragged her with him. A deft flip had him coming down on his bottom hard, his legs once again propping up against the wood divider of the confessional. Aurora settled on his knees.

Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of his trousers, easing it down over his jutting cock. He curled his good hand against it, lashing his abbreviated arm around the small of her back, tugging her against him.

“Lift up,” Killian ordered, and she did, hands curling into his shoulders as her legs fell on either side of his hips. He reached between them and pushed her panties to the side, easing it down her one leg until the utilitarian white panties braceleted around her ankle. “Let go.” Aurora obeyed and gravity did the rest, and she dropped down heavily on his thick shaft, a cry escaping her as her head dropped onto his shoulder.

He was in hot, sweet heaven, her muscles pulsating and clenching around him as she adjusted to his invasion. She was definitely tight, tight enough to make almost come then and there, but when she lifted her flustered face to his there wasn’t a hint of pain.

Grinning, Killian pinched her side sharply, earning a yelp. “You’ve done this before,” he surmised. “If I had known you were this naughty before I would have taken you on my desk the first time I thought about it.”

A shudder rolled through her and he moaned as he felt it reverberate against his cock. “Once—once,” she admitted with a bashful smile—how could she be this innocent and this hot all at once? “Before.”

“Did you like it?” he asked, shifting her slightly.

“It was alright.”

A bark of laughter escaped him. “This is going to be more than alright. I pride myself on being more than ‘alright’.” He gave a sharp thrust up into her and Aurora gasped wordlessly, her inner muscles clenching around him tightly. Stars burst at the corner of his eyes in pleasure.

He shoved his good hand up into her blouse, buttons popping, fabric rending and he mouthed the white, serviceable cotton bra, licking her nipple through the fabric until he peddled it to a point. Aurora whimpered, fingers digging into his scalp as she rocked on him, holding his face against her breasts. So she liked that. Grinning against her heated skin, Killian worked one strap off her shoulder and down her arm, until he had enough wiggle room to shove it under her breasts, pushing her small, petite mounds up against his face.

“Get moving,” he muttered to her as he clamped his teeth over her nipple flicking his tongue out over the deep red point. Aurora mewled and lifted herself, dropping herself back heavily on his cock. Killian moaned around her breast, good hand lifted to knead the neglected one, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She clenched tightly around him, jerking her hips so fiercely he swore he could feel his bones rattle. Such a wild thing, his Aurora, so shocking. He bet the Mother Superior never thought such untamed fire beat below her smooth, pristine skin. He’d always known that.

Aurora arched away from him, using the arm he had curved at the small of her back to keep her from tumbling completely off him, as she reached behind him and gripped his knee for balancing, canting her hip as she quivered like an overworked mare. Killian sure as hell felt overworked as her breast popped free of his mouth.

The booth was loud with the sounds of their slapping bodies, sweaty, slick flesh pounding into sweaty, slick flesh. They were both lucky the small church rarely had visitors other than on the weekends and that this little chapel they were fucking in was only in use during those times. He didn’t imagine there were many excuses for why a priest was balls-deep in a would-be nun, except how fucking good it felt to thrust up into this particular would-be nun.

“I need to feel you come,” he hissed out, bending to lave her navel with his tongue. “I want to feel you come for me.” His good hand release her breast to grab one of the hands she had twisting in his dark hair, and urged it down to her clit, helping her to rub her fingers against the distended bundle of nerves. “I need to feel your sweet, little cunny tightening around me, Rora.” She seemed to like his words, her breath panting out harshly as she rolled her hips roughly against his cock and his hands.

He dragged her back to him, their two hands trapped against her mound, working her clit together, as she leveled herself above him, dropping back as he lifted his hips to catch her in fierce, harsh thrusts. So close. He was so close but he needed her to clench around him, needed her climax before him so he could feel it—for no other reason than he would go mad if he didn’t know what it felt like to have her pussy milking his cock in wave after wave of pleasure.

And just as his balls drew up to spend himself Aurora bit down on his shoulder, teeth pushing through the thick fabric of his dress shirt. He felt her scream, and as she stilled abruptly against him, every single muscle tightening before she melted against him, tremors twitching against his cock as her release ripped through her. He could feel the electricity racing down her spine.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred to her, as she weakly clung to him as he finished himself, using his body as a battering ram into her, their pelvises slapping against each other as he chased his own release.

When he felt the tight knot of nerves begin to coil he drew himself out of her, laying his cock flat against her stomach. Aurora was full of surprises today and sluggishly reached down, curling her little fingers around his organ and helping him pump himself to release. He spilled himself against his trousers and her stomach, leaving a sticky, white bridge from her navel to the top of his cock as he shot his release against her. He could have saved her the mess, but he had wanted her to feel him come against her.

Aurora’s cool fingers slipped underneath the bottom of his shirt, pushing up against his chest to tangle in the wiry tuft of hair beneath. Her head rested limply on his shoulder as she trembled. Killian felt like he had been wrung out and left to dry. That was quite possibly the most powerful orgasm of his life; he could feel the wake of it burning at the small of his back.

“You are not a priest,” Aurora murmured thickly against his shoulder.

His laughter rumbled out from his chest, rocking her back against him. “No, m’love, safe to say I’m the farthest thing from it.” Keeping his blunted arm secured around her waist, Killian leaned forward to slid open the hide-away hole that had secured his stolen gems. He closed a fist around the strand of black pearls and lifted them above her head. The stilted sunlight refracted off their smooth surfaces as he lowered them into the valley between her breasts.

Well, he’d planned on keeping those anyway—a souvenir of sorts. Killian liked collecting his keepsakes.

He glanced at her, into her bluebell eyes, and grinned. His teeth skimmed across the tender underside of her jaw, eliciting a whimper from her.

“Run away with me,” he suggested, not aware of how much appeal the idea had to him until the words had left his mouth. Sun-drenched beaches in the Mediterranean had their own cathartic appeal, but a naked woman only enchanted the image—Aurora as the naked woman? That was a downright masterpiece.

“What?” Aurora gave him a lidded look, half-sated and half-confused, clearly thinking he was insane.

“You’re only here because you’re hiding out from a madwoman, aren’t you?” Killian said, running his tongue down the slope of her jaw, tipping his chin to press his lips meaningfully into hers. “I’m very good at hiding. I could hide you.”

“Killian…”

She stared at him with art frankness, and Killian had always been good at reading people. He already knew her answer, rimmed around her pretty, wide eyes, the pearls dangling out of her blouse. He smirked up into her face, not unlike a pagan prostrating themselves before their god.


End file.
